A Journey Through Time
by Nomadic-Butterfly
Summary: During the battle of Hogwarts. Hermione comes across the Mirror of Erised and curiosity gets the better of her. What she sees shocks her to the core when a mystical voice speaks from within and a prophecy revealed. She is pulled into the realm of King Henry VIII and instructed to stop him from unleashing the force that plunged England and the world into an age of self-destruction.
1. Prologue

A/N: Thanks to my beta!

Disclaimer: I don't own either King Henry or Hermione Granger, but I do own their babies, a few courtiers, Lords, and the Plot.

**PROLOGUE**

Hermione Granger ran through the halls of Hogwarts School of Witch Craft and Wizardry, running from Dolohov and the other Death Eaters who were hot on her tail. This wasn't supposed to happen. She was not supposed to be separated from Ron and Harry, her two best friends.

Instead, here she was alone, running and fighting for survival, throwing curses over her shoulder and dodging theirs. She had no wish to experience a repeat of one of Dolohov's un-named curses as she had done in her fourth year. The war between the light and dark had started several hours ago with Lord Voldemort demanding that they give him Harry Potter. When they refused to hand over the boy who lived all hell broke loose.

She wasn't even aware of which part of the crumbling castle she was in. Everywhere she turned, she could hear the screams, cries and bangs of the raging battle. She was surrounded by the sounded of death and destruction echoing through the place she'd called home for seven years.

Hermione rounded a corner and a door appeared on her right. She did a double check over her shoulder, breathing a sigh of relief as she noticed she'd lost them-but probably not for long.

She quickly turned the doorknob and barreled through the door at full speed, slamming it shut behind her. She cast protective charms and a silencing spell, then leaned tiredly on the door to catch her breath. She knew that she would have to rejoin the battle, but she needed a moment to herself.

Still on guard, she turned around to see what room she'd walked into, and gasped in shock. If what she saw against the wall was truly the thing she'd heard Harry grumbling about for weeks when Dumbledore had supposedly destroyed it, she had to wonder why the old man had lied. But perhaps he'd done so to keep him from gazing into the mirror constantly, looking at himself with his parents.

She had read everything she could about the Mirror of Erised, of course, and she'd seen pictures of it as well. As she stepped toward it she felt a strange urge to look behind her, and saw that the door had disappeared. Now she was completely surrounded by stone walls, and she began to wonder just what sort of room she was in.

Looking about, Hermione realized that the Mirror was the only thing in the room besides herself. She held her wand tightly, and stayed alert as she warily stepped closer to it. The huge golden frame dominated the wall opposite her, and the Mirror was tilted slightly, so that the observer would have to look down to see into it.

Avoiding the reflective glass, her gaze roamed over the intimidating frame. Spotting the text she fully expected to find, she read aloud, "_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_." She then translated it: "_I show not your face but your heart's desire_."

Sometimes even the smartest witch of her time could be too curious for her own good. Hermione was always somewhat doubtful about oracles and magical objects that could supposedly predict things, especially those which could predict her heart's desire. How could a mirror possibly know what she really wanted?

She looked directly into the center of the glass, and at first she saw nothing at all. She almost turned away in disgust, but then a figure began to form within the Mirror, and she could not seem to move as she watched it solidify. Her eyebrows raised in surprise when she spied a handsome young man dressed in medieval clothing and wearing a small crown upon his head. He seemed quite familiar, and Hermione racked her brain trying to think of where she'd seen him before.

Running through her extensive knowledge of history, both Magical and Muggle, she came to the realization that this very attractive individual could be none other than King Henry VIII himself. The era in which he lived, known as the Tudor era, had always been of great interest to her, yet she could not understand why the Mirror of Erised showed her this as her heart's desire. Surely the thing must be a fraud, for here was a desire she could never have.

Disgusted, Hermione wished to turn away, yet still her body would not move. The man stared directly at her, and as she continued to look she realized he held a small bundle in his arms—a child; their child, and there at his leg, a small boy clung to him and glanced shyly out at her as well.

When Hermione finally got the nerve to turn away, a booming voice called her back. From the Mirror itself came the following words:

_Welcome, she who has the power to awaken me from within. You have been chosen for a special task, a task that will change history for Magical and Muggle alike, righting the wrongs made so many moons ago._

_You must save the King from going down the path of destruction he took with his many wives. The beheadings were never meant to occur, nor the six wives. The lies, manipulations, selfishness and greed of the vile creatures that surround King Henry made him into the monster he became._

_In truth, the King was meant to fall in love with a young girl name Mary Boleyn, but because of her sister's jealousy and the manipulations of her family her sister Anne came to court and ruined all_

_To prevent this treachery, you must capture and hold the King's heart yourself. In this time where you now reside, your knowledge, intelligence, and magical skills are wasted. With these skills and your caring heart, you could easily win the respect and love you deserve at the Tudor court._

_As for Queen Catherine of Aragon, she was not meant to meet such a tragic end. She must be sent back to Spain, where she will live the rest of her days in her childhood home with her and Henry's daughter, Mary._

_There is no time to consider this, my child, for your time here grows short. You must enter the Mirror now, before it is too late._

Hermione stared in complete shock. For once in her life she was at a loss for words. Besides, wouldn't it be totally ridiculous to talk to a Mirror? This had to be the most bizarre idea ever, but she could not restrain herself any longer, and she had to ask, "But how can I be the chosen one? Harry Potter is the chosen one, not me. I'm just a Muggle-born witch—a Mudblood—" she winced as she said the last word, but still she knew it to be true.

_The fates have chosen a different path for you, young one. You were destined to come here today. The secret door does not appear often, yet you were able to find it. You know enough of magic to realize the significance of such things. There is no way to escape a destiny when it has been set in motion. The only escape from here is to move forward._

Hermione looked back to the place where the door had been, and saw that it had not reappeared. She took a deep breath as she turned back to the Mirror of Erised. "If I go where you wish, who am I supposed to be? How am I supposed to do as you ask?"

_You will be the daughter of a book store owner near the castle of Westminster, the King's current residence. You will be arriving in the spring of 1522-March 30__th__, to be exact. Your date of birth will be the same. You will have ridden out on your horse, Shadow. Because your horse was spooked and you fell as it reared and bolted, the King will find you during a hunting trip._

_The family you claim are ancestors of yours, and you look exactly like their daughter, whose name is Hermione as well, so no one will suspect who you truly are._

"Will I still have my magic?" she asked.

_Yes, your magic will be retained. You will become the King's greatest treasure, his most favored gift, once he discovers all there is to know about you. Your magic will further secure your place by his side. However, you will not have need of your wand, as it will be far better if you use only wandless magic._

Hermione gasped. "How do you know I can use wandless magic? I haven't even told Ron or Harry about my skill."

_I am the Mirror of Erised, Hermione Granger. I know everything about you. And I must warn you, Hermione's mother was a witch who died in child birth, and her father has kept you secret and schooled you on how to control you magic using the books left to you upon your mother's death. It was her dying wish that you should embrace your magical heritage, and your Muggle father was most adamant that her words should be heeded._

_When you are found, everything will fall into place. The place you are now will become nothing but a dream, and the past will be your true home._

"Must I forget everything?" Hermione wanted to know.

_You have no choice, young one. Good luck._

Hermione felt her arm reach out of its own accord, and her heart began to race as she felt the tips of her fingers upon the smooth glass. It felt almost as though she'd Apparated until her body hit the ground, and then she knew no more.


	2. One

**CHAPTER ONE**

Spring: March 30th 1552.

King Henry had grown tired of the scheming and intrigues of his court. Though he had his eye on the lovely Mary Carey lately, even she seemed to have lost her allure once she had become prey to the intricacies of life at court, and the plots his supposedly loyal subjects thought he knew nothing about. She was, herself, wholly innocent of such things, yet still she might easily become a pawn.

He would not have been a very good king if he did not know what went on right inside his own home. He had his own trusted spies who were well paid for their silence, and he'd planted at least one in among each of the families that dwelled in the castle. Unlike others, he did not do it for gossip or advancement, but more for his own protection.

There was always a plot in place, and he refused to fall prey to the same mistakes as his Uncle—the ambassador had allowed his ignorance to lead him to his death right here on home ground. That was one life lesson that he had learned well.

Currently he was astride his best stallion, galloping through the forest outside of the Westminster Palace walls, hunting with his closest companions. Mary's brother George Boleyn, and her husband Charles Brandon—a man he had known since boyhood and often competed with for the attentions of the fairer sex.

Also along for the day were a few well-chosen huntsmen, and of course, his personal guards for the sake of safety. The latter stayed a bit farther back, giving the noblemen room to enjoy their exercise in relative privacy.

Of course, both George and William had nothing but praise for Mary. From both accounts, she was the perfect wife, and the most loving of sisters. She sounded like a perfect woman, and from what he had observed of her character in court he knew most of what they said was true. He'd been spending some time now fitting the little pieces of the puzzle that was Mary together, and he thought perhaps he had the task mostly done.

"Had you heard, Your Highness, that my other sister, Anne, will soon be at court?" asked George in a conversational tone as they followed along behind the hounds.

"What use have I for another Boleyn sister, my friend, when one is quite good enough?" Henry asked with a saucy chuckle. The trio broke through the copse of trees and rumbled on into the thicket. The fields beyond were lush and green, and blossoming with early spring flowers.

Henry's eyes fell upon something completely out of place with the rest of the idyllic scene. With a jolt of surprise he reined in his mount, causing his companions to pulls strongly on their reins as well. His own mount remained steady, but William's horse reared up in surprise before it too came to a stop. Some of the hounds were already half way across the gap, heading for the small mound that lay in the grass.

"If you don't mind me asking, Majesty, why have we suddenly stopped the hunt's progress?" Brandon asked.

"Look, over there, in the thick of the field." He pointed out. He squinted in an attempt to figure out what was lying on the ground amongst the long grass and flowers. The two men, as well as quite of few of the retinue, followed his example, and Henry wordlessly signaled for the hunters to investigate with a regal wave of his hand.

A huntsman and a guard walked in as the others watched with anticipation. The two men reached their destination, and the guard crouched down as he spoke to the huntsman, who came running back as fast as possible.

"It's a young woman, Your Majesty," he said between gasps. "She looks hurt."

"A woman, alone in these woods?" Henry asked in surprise. He jumped off his horse, signaling to Charles to follow him. He and his friend walked together alone, for Henry did not wish for the rest of the party to put their noses in where they were not welcome.

Henry spoke to the guardsmen as he drew near. "Is she still alive?" he inquired.

"Yes, sire," he said. "She appears to have been knocked unconscious. So far, I have been unable to awaken her."

Henry bent down to inspect the young woman, and found he could not see her properly past a mane of long, lush curls that cascaded across her face like an untamed waterfall. The golden brown waves looked as though they'd captured the very sunlight, which now reflected in a luxurious glow. When he moved aside a portion of it, he revealed a girl who looked to have reached about seventeen years.

He also took notice of how very beautiful she was as he gazed at her longer than was strictly necessary. A bemused look crept up onto his face as he wondered who she could be.

"Take her to the castle and set her up in a chamber near mine," he instructed the man. "Call the doctor, and keep me informed."

"Yes, Your Highness," the man said with a bow of his head.

Henry found himself feeling somewhat exhilarated as the guardsmen picked up the girl and hauled her back with them towards the other men. He wondered how she had come to be there, lying just beyond the King's forest all alone, and with her hair unbound no less. He found himself quite glad that he had happened upon her before any man of a lesser character had found her instead.

The guardsman laid her on his mount before pulling himself up behind her, and the two noblemen rejoined the third to resume the hunt. As he watched the man carefully place the girl across his knees, a rush of jealousy overtook him. He wished that it was he, and not the guardsman, who was about to carry her back to the castle. But of course he could not, when the people in that castle were depending on them to return with the evening meal. He shook the thought aside resolutely.

Who was this mere slip of a girl who had the power to so easily take over his thoughts? Not a moment before, he'd been completely focused on another, but now he could not seem to conjure Mary Carey's face to mind. Only the face of the beautiful stranger accosted him now.

Why had he not seen this little beauty at court? he wondered. Surely the father of a girl such as she would have a wish to show her to good effect, flaunting her under the noblemen's' noses until he found her a good husband. Even if she were the daughter of a farmer or worker, her beauty would have gained her a lesser position, perhaps even hoping to gain his interest to that end.

To Henry, the rest of the hunt went by in a blur, with nothing of interest to catch his eye. It wasn't a very successful endeavor, and Henry was certain his displeasure at the lack of game was clearly written on his face. But that disappointment was tempered by an eagerness to get back to the castle and find out more about the mysterious girl.

On the way, he found himself thinking of the queen and his stillborn son, and he frowned more than ever. Now there was a woman who had abysmally failed in her duty to their marriage, for she had yet to provide him with a legitimate heir. He'd had a bastard son, of course, but that boy had always been sickly, and he too had died recently. It seemed most ironic that both of his sons had died in so close a span of time.

Henry knew only an heir would secure the safety of England from the wolves who waited in the wings for his own demise. To keep his country safe, he needed that heir soon, so he would have reached maturity by the time he was expected to take the throne.

Perhaps he would send Catherine back to Spain with their young daughter, Mary, divorcing her. After all, no one could fault him for doing so, since she was ruining his chances of doing his duty to God and country by producing the next king. Though the thought weighed heavily on his mind, he was certain it was the only solution.

:-]


	3. Two

Thanks all :-] :-]

**CHAPTER TWO**

The next twenty-four hours were the longest in Henry's life. He burned deep with curiosity, and came up with a thousand explanations as to how such a lovely girl had come to be in that specific spot, and who could have done this to her. His blood boiled at the thought of a man harming her—it was against the rules of his land to attack an innocent woman. If any man had dared to do so, he'd hang the bastard by his balls.

He was far too preoccupied with this new puzzle, and driving himself into a craze trying to piece it together. He spared only a very brief thought for Mary Carey, and this only because he recalled that he'd been thinking of her as a puzzle yesterday—one that he'd decided he had figured out. Perhaps once he pieced this girl together, she too would fade from his mind.

But for now, the mystery was too fresh, and he felt baffled that this girl had never been brought to his court. He was certain that he'd remember if she had, for his memory was quite sound. Which was good, since he happened to be the King.

Finally, exactly twenty-four hours and thirty minutes since he'd found the girl, at least in his own reckoning, the doctor came into the throne room. Henry was reluctantly seated there beside the queen as an entertainment she'd dreamed up went unnoticed before him. He was gazing out the window when the doors opened and he turned to watch the good doctor stride confidently through the throng of at least two hundred people who danced and conversed before him.

Some of those people became curious as the doctor approached the throne and bowed. Many turned to watch, as if the entertainment was now the two men instead of the traveling jongleurs they'd lost interest in so long ago.

"Your Majesty, may I request a private audience?" he inquired.

Not bothering to look in his wife's direction, Henry rose and followed the man to his private area beyond the thrones. The guards opened the doors and closed them again once the two men had passed through. Once they were closed, Henry wasted no time in questioning the doctor about his charge.

"Has she awakened at last, Sir Giles?" he asked hopefully.

"She has, Your Highness," he answered. "She is quite confused, and has asked for her father. She would like someone to send him a letter."

With a frown, Henry asked, "Is she well enough for me to enter her room?"

"Her only remaining symptom appears to be a headache, sire," he said. "But that is to be expected after being knocked unconscious. I think it is safe to say you may enter."

"Then lead on, doctor," he said in a regal manner, which he hoped would hide the utter anticipation his reply had called forth.

As he had initially requested, the room in which the girl was placed was quite near his own. In fact, she had been placed in the room which was intended for his heir one day. He was half pleased it was not yet occupied just so he could have the mystery woman all to himself.

Yet at the same time, a twinge of bitterness at Catherine's continued inadequacies niggled at him. But for her continued failure to produce an heir, he would have been forced to walk a bit further. It was a trade-off he would have proudly borne.

But Catherine was not everything she had seemed when they'd wed. For one thing, he now knew that she had lied about her virtue when he'd taken her the first time. How young and foolish he'd been back then, how stupid and naïve, to have believed her.

He willingly set aside his musings once they reached the chamber door. He allowed the doctor to precede him into the room so he could be formally introduced. The last time he'd been in this room had been the day his stillborn son was birthed.

Henry glanced around, and spotted the girl standing beside a small window with her back turned to them. Her cascading locks appeared to have undergone some freshening up, and she had been dressed in a gown, undoubtedly borrowed from one of the ladies at court after a good bathing, as well.

As he drew near, the scent of lavender perfume assailed his nostrils. He inhaled softly, drinking in the fragrance like a fine wine.

"My lady? May I present to you his Majesty, the King," said Sir Giles in his most formal tones.

Slowly, almost painfully slowly, she turned around to face him, and Henry felt as though the breath had been knocked right out of him. Had he thought her pretty as she lay in the grime? Now, faced with her animated eyes and the soft smile that graced her lush lips, he believed he was looking upon an angel. She was even prettier than Mary—and at least half the women at court.

Her sumptuous curls cascaded over her shoulders, covering the swell of her breasts just enough to leave his imagination running wild. Her face was heart-shaped, and she gazed upon him with eyes the shade of darkest chocolate. Her eyelashes were magnificently long and thick, and she fluttered them prettily as she noticed his regard.

It was no wonder he had not seen her at court, he thought. If she'd been his daughter, he would have locked her away and never allowed her to be seen by any man. She curtsied low, her eyes holding his gaze as she did so. He took several slow steps forward, not wishing to overwhelm her with his presence.

The gown she wore was pastel yellow, with gold threading. Her skin was flawless and creamy, and he could see no sign that her recent mishap had left even one scratch. Henry heard the door to the room close behind him, but he did not turn to see the circumspect physician leave. He was pleased the man had the good sense to leave them in private.

"Lady—" Henry began before she cut him off.

"If it pleases Your Majesty, just Hermione will be appreciated, for I am not a Lady, just the daughter of a scribe and shop owner."

"What sort of shop does your father own?" he inquired, amused by her manner. He did not think anyone had ever dared to cut him off before. Perhaps this was a first. Maybe a first of many?

If he were to put one foot forward, he'd be touching the point of her shoe. He stood directly in front of her now, and he took ahold of her chin gently, turning her face from side to side. "From what I can see, Hermione," he said, savoring the name as he said it, and noticing the little blush his attentions had brought to her cheeks, "you seem to be a lady, for you are certainly not a man—are you?"

She shook her head, unable to answer him. Her blush deepened the longer he held her. Or was it his compliments that caused the heightened color? Perhaps his presence made her nervous?

"You are too kind, Your Majesty," she finally said. "But, I am not a lady of your court, just a simple girl from a small town. I believe I owe you my gracious thanks, sire. From what I have learned, it was you who found me in the thicket?"

"My dear girl, there is no need to thank me," he said. "It was an honor to find one such as you. But now I must know, why have I not seen you in my court? Surely your father, being a learned man, would wish for advancement or trade?"

Hermione looked away at this, turning to look out the window again. "My father does not need such favors," she said. "He is a proud man, willing to get by on his own achievements."

"Well, that has answered one of my questions, miss-?"

"Granger, Your Majesty," she supplied.

"Miss Granger," he repeated. "That sounds more like a miller's name than a scribe's."

"Yes, my grandfather was a miller," she said. "But as to the other question, my father is very protective of me. He raised me alone due to my mother's untimely death."

Henry could hear a hint of sadness at this pronouncement. When she turned her beautiful chocolate eyes his way again, they seemed almost to be pleading.

"If I may, Your Majesty, I must send word to my father. He will be worried when my horse returns without me. If the silly beast hadn't been spooked and thrown me, you never would have found me to begin with."

"Ah, you must remind me to thank the animal someday," he said with a smile as he held forth his arm. "Come, I have parchment and quills, and a lovely writing desk, in my private chambers. You must write to your father, and tell him to come to court to collect you the day after tomorrow. He will join us for the evening feast then, for I find that I wish to keep your company a little while longer."

"But Your Highness must be very busy," she answered lightly as she took his arm and they began to walk. "I would not wish to inconvenience you further. My father can easily retrieve me tomorrow."

Shaking his head, Henry replied, "My dear girl, you will be a breath of fresh air in this old castle. It will be a welcome diversion to have some new company, for I rarely have the opportunity to meet anyone outside these walls."

"Then, sire, I shall do my best to be of service," she answered with a smile.

"You will not be of service to me, Miss Granger," said Henry as his lips twitched up into a slight smirk. "It is I who shall be of service to you, while you are my guest for the next two nights."

By now they had walked down the hall, and he rounded a corner, heading down the corridor that led to his own chambers. He enjoyed the idea of her being so very close, but he wished he could persuade her to stay with him instead. He had a feeling that was one wish he would not be granted tonight.

The guards stepped aside as they let Henry and his guest in. Suddenly, he felt almost nervous, which was completely ridiculous. Why should he, the King of England, feel nervous about leading a woman into his chambers? No woman—not even Catherine—had made him feel nervous before.

"So, this is where the King of England sleeps?" Hermione said as she looked around curiously.

Henry chuckled, saying, "And eats, and finds a little time for himself each day. And even writes upon this very desk occasionally."

"It's quite—large," she said as he led her to the chair and handed her into it. "Even the chair, I mean. I feel as though I'm being swallowed up by it. But the stained-glass window is quite lovely. Is that a unicorn and a maiden upon it?"

"Indeed," he said with a smile as he brought out ink, quill, and parchment to set before her. "My mother favored unicorns. She had that very window commissioned right after she first moved in here."

His fingers brushed against hers as he gave her the quill, and Hermione blushed again as she took it. She watched as he turned away and stepped over to the fire, which was blazing with flickering orange and yellow flames that drifted high up into the chimney.

Then she noticed this was because a servant had only just added more wood. Henry saw him as well, and indicated that he should leave. The boy bowed obediently and scurried out the door.

Henry was unused to the sounds of someone else in his room. He listened for a few moments to the quill scratching away before he decided it was oddly refreshing to know he was not alone. The only one who ever used that desk normally was himself, usually when his signature was required for something.

Giving her the privacy he knew she wanted, Henry only turned around once he heard the scrape of the chair on the dark, wooden flooring. He stood and made his way over to her, extending his hand to take the scroll and roll it up. Hermione only hesitated a moment before complying with the silent request.

When he had completed rolling the parchment up, he grabbed up some sealing wax and heated it with a candle, letting a few drops fall onto the middle of the seam, and then using his own seal upon it.

"There you are," he said, smiling. "No one would dare try to read it now. But, just to be sure, I shall give it to my most trusted messenger."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she answered as he offered his arm again.

"And now, I believe I am expected in the throne room to lead the guests in for dinner," he said. "It's a rather tedious business. If you would like to join me, you may sit beside me there."

"At the King's table?" she said nervously. "In front of all and sundry, and me never setting foot at court before this?"

Henry laughed. "You surprise me, my dear. Any one of the ladies in waiting would not think twice about such an offer. It would be a dream come true."

"It's not that," she answered shyly. "I—I do not wish to upset the queen."

The easy smile died upon his lips as she reminded him that his wife would also be there. He did not want to think of her anymore this day, after she'd troubled his thoughts so much lately.

"The queen has no say in the matter," he answered, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone. It pleased him greatly that his companion did not question his response, but merely accepted it. That would never have been true of any other lady here, who all seemed to seek his company out as much to obtain such insightful tidbits as anything else—if not more so. It was well known to him how often the ladies of the court were sent to spy, and report whatever they learned to the heads of their families.

Hermione Granger held many of the traits he looked for in a woman. She seemed genuine, if a bit shy and hesitant, and she did not question him about thing she knew he would not wish to discuss. And, from the little she'd said of her father and his shop, he was starting to think they would share an interest in knowledge as well.

Henry paused as they reached the door that would lead into the corridor, and asked, "Are you ready to face my court, Miss Granger?"

Blushing, she replied, "As ready as one can be, Your Majesty."

He nodded and opened the door.


	4. Three

**Thanks for the response to chapter two everyone, really appreciate it :-]**

**Thank you to LadyMalfoySnape for kindly pointing that out to me. Mistake now fixed :-]**

**CHAPTER THREE**

As Henry and Hermione walked to the throne room in companionable silence, they passed several people along the way. One man, obviously a nobleman, stared in astonishment at the beautiful young woman at the king's side, almost forgetting to bow to the monarch at all. When Henry cast him a highly annoyed look, he quickly corrected his oversight.

Hermione grew more nervous as several others stared at her so openly. She did her level best not to fidget too much, for she did not wish to displease the king with her discomposure.

However, Henry could hardly miss it, since her nervousness practically radiated off of her. He leaned down, brushing his lips playfully across her ear as he whispered, "Relax, Hermione. You are my guest. No man here would be foolish enough to think twice about you if they value their lives."

He pulled her a little closer and placed his hand over hers where it rested on his arm. Her slim fingers gripped his sleeve as though it was her lifeline.

"If I may speak freely, Your Majesty?" she asked with a soft blush.

"I want you to feel free to say anything your heart desires, my dear," he told her, and she looked down momentarily as she took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. He added, "I do not wish there to be any secrets between us."

"How can I relax, when I am not used to this kind of attention, and I am certain the reaction to my presence at your side will be less than satisfactory?"

Henry frowned, for he knew that in part her words were true. But only in part.

"Hermione, they can like it or not, for I am their king, and they are simply men and women with titles. Or married men with titles. You must not think they are in any way better than you, and they have no say whatsoever with whom I choose to keep company."

"But sire, your wife? What will she think of me?"

"Catherine has no say in this, either," he insisted. "I know you are new to court, my dear, but have no fear. I will guide you in the way of things, if you will allow."

He felt that bout of nerves again as he spoke, wondering if Hermione would accept him if he asked her to remain at court more than two short days. The spark he felt in her presence was something completely new to him, and he wanted to keep hold of it, fan the flames to life. That was what he felt as he stood beside her—life! Something he hadn't felt for a long time.

Henry paused when they were just one turn away from walking down the corridor to the throne room. "Hermione, listen to me. Catherine has no say in whom I keep company with. And as I have said I desire no secrets, I will now be honest with you." He glanced about to make certain they were truly alone, with no one lurking about trying to listen. "Catherine has failed as both wife and queen. She lied about her virtue on our wedding night, but I was too young and naïve to see it then. I took the advice of my counsel then, but I believe it was a mistake. For as king, I must not fail in my duty to produce an heir."

Hermione's brow furrowed as he spoke, and her eyes seemed far away. Henry tilted her chin so she looked at him again.

"We probably could have had a whole house full of heirs if that woman hadn't been with my brother first. If she had not lied to me."

"So you seek a wife, and a life of honesty?" she inquired with a smile.

Henry brushed his lips against her ear again. "You are indeed correct, Hermione," he said in low tones, making her blush from head to toe. "Now I have left my people waiting long enough for their dinner," he said as he backed her up against the wall and caged her there with his arms. "The sooner this is over, the sooner I can have you to myself again."

"Your Majesty, I cannot," Hermione said, her blush deepening even more as his words sank in. His lips grazed the sensitive spot beneath her ear, a place Henry knew made all ladies hot, and to his delight she shivered at the touch, just as he'd hoped.

Moving his lips to her ear again, he asked, "You can't, or you won't? No harm will come to you from loving me, Hermione. You will be my own queen—the queen of my heart."

Hermione gasped at his words, and he moved slightly closer so that their bodies touched, and his arms were more securely surrounding her. His whole body was on fire, and she had not even tried to provoke him. No woman had ever had this effect on him before.

"I-I'm honoured, Your Majesty, but—"

Henry's lips crushed hers before she could finish her refusal. He knew after he was done kissing her, her lips would show it, but he found he did not care.

Catherine knew he'd grown tired of her, as he'd not bedded her since she'd become with child over ten months ago. He'd sought his comforts elsewhere, though he'd been careful in the manner of his indulgences, for he did not want the same situation as he'd had with his and Bessy Blount's son again. He'd had too much of death.

But he wanted Hermione much more than he should. He wanted her in a way he'd never wanted any conquest he'd had before. He must try to curb his appetite at least a little, for both their sakes.

Hermione could hardly believe how forward the king was. She, the simple daughter of a book store owner stood in a main hall of the castle with his Royal Highness's tongue lapping at the entrance to her mouth as if it were the doorway to the greatest treasure in the land.

Her hands found their way around his neck as he pulled her even tighter against him, holding her securely in his embrace. Her shoulders rested against the wall, and he was leaning slightly forward so she could feel him—all of him. She blushed hotly as his manhood pressed against her lower region.

She ought to feel like the luckiest girl in the word, yet she held her heart in reserve until she might grow more comfortable and secure in this new position she found herself in. She'd be lying to herself if she said she didn't find the king handsome, and she'd felt a spark of something brewing within her since the moment she first saw him. But she also knew she could not be completely honest with him as he would like, for she must be certain if she was indeed safe from hanging if she should confess all.

Could she trust the king that much? She was a reserved person by nature, and had few friends, preferring the company of her father and their books. To be pinned to the wall by any man, let alone the King of England, was a completely new experience for her.

After an eternity of resisting, Hermione slowly relaxed and melted as his skilled tongue took possession of her mouth. Then, Henry rested his forehead against hers and whispered four little words that would change her life forever:

"You will be mine."

And then he kissed her again before she could form any sort of response.

"Come, the company must be famished by now," he said as he took her hand in his and led her down the hall and into the throne room to be presented at court.

**Oooo. Henry... lol! Hmm... Lemon so soon? Or wait it out a bit longer?**

**Thoughts, please! I won't be writing chapter 4 till you guys tell me what you want to happen between Henry and Hermione...**

**A full blown out lemon or just kissing and cuddling with a little touching?**

**Should it happen this night or the next?**

**Tell me what you'd like to see :-] I have an idea but I'm unsure which is why I'm asking you all for your thoughts on this! :-] **

**Hope ya'll have a good weekend.**


	5. Book Cover Up :-)

Hey everyone just thought I'd let you all know a book cover has kindly been made for A Journey Through Time :-] by redshadow43!

See you Thursday :]


	6. Four

~*~ **FOUR **~*~

Queen Catherine hid a sigh of despair when she'd seen the doctor appear and approach the throne. Her husband had left with him rather quickly, and without a word. She couldn't help but wonder what business the King had with the doctor. Perhaps they were discussing some secret illness that Henry had been keeping from her, or worse, perhaps he was off to attend the birthing of yet another illegitimate child with some mistress she had yet to learn of.

As usual, she took great care to school her features so the courtiers would not know her true emotions, maintaining a calm façade. But in truth, she was anything but. It was bad enough that she couldn't produce an heir, and she was well pleased that Henry had elected to keep her here once he'd learned the truth. Not every man would have tolerated the knowledge that his supposedly chaste wife had once been married to his deceased brother.

_Oh, Arthur, I miss you so, _she thought with a keen wistfulness. Of course she'd come to care for the king over time, but he could never replace his dead brother in her heart. Arthur had been her first—first of everything one could have a first of, and even now he was still first. Henry was no Arthur.

She lost herself in her musings, contemplating her current lot in life. With so many countless mistresses passing by right under her nose, it was no wonder she could not give herself to him more fully. In fact, since he'd learned of her most recent pregnancy, the man had not even bothered to touch her at all.

Catherine was aware of his interest in one of her youngest Ladies in Waiting, Mary Carey, and she had to admit to herself that the girl was pretty enough to hold his interest—at least for a time. But what about after that? When would his attentions return to her at least long enough to get her with child again?

Before she could stop herself, she sighed in earnest this time. Thankfully, nobody noticed, yet as she turned to see what reason would have had no eye upon her, she realized two things. Firstly, that the king had returned, and secondly, that he was not alone.

Though she kept her eyes upon Henry, with skilled glances she scrutinized the rather nervous-looking young woman who clung to his arm. Her eyes darted all over the place as she took in her surroundings, and then Henry bent to whisper something into her ear. The young woman blushed slightly, but it was difficult to read much on her reserved countenance. She was much like herself in that, at least.

But more to the point, what exactly was the king doing with the girl on his arm in the first place? She could not be recently delivered of a child, and by the look of her it was unlikely she'd ever done anything that could have produced one. So, who was she, and where was she from? It was maddening not to know, yet she was almost certain Henry was unlikely to explain.

Henry stopped at the foot of the steps leading to the dais, and cast Catherine a look she knew all too well. Making certain to keep her face painfully neutral, she rose and joined her husband, who seemed to have no intention of releasing his companion any time soon.

"I hope everything is well, husband?" she inquired in a low, sweet tone as she took hold of his other arm. Avoiding a glance at the woman who cowered slightly behind him, or the gazes of all who watched avidly for any sign of distress between herself and their king, Catherine held her head high and waited for an answer.

"All is well, of course, Catherine," he answered. "Shall we proceed to the repast?"

She bowed slightly, and turned to face forward, walking among the courtiers but seeing none of them. She avoided the looks of any of her ladies in waiting, and completely ignored every plotting, scheming lord. She dutifully led the procession through the castle and out to the Great Hall, where the tables were all set up for dining.

Then, as the people wandered off to take their places, only then did Catherine find a moment to speak to him without being overheard. "Who is this woman you've brought with us, my dear? I've never seen her at court before."

Henry tensed. "Her identity is no concern of yours, Catherine. I'll thank you to mind your own business."

"Some might say that another woman on my husband's arm would indeed by my business," she pointed out, keeping the ire from her tone as much as possible. "By what distinction shall she be known? Is she your mistress, or yet another whore? How long will it be before I hear of her impregnation with yet another bastard child to remind me of my failings?"

Henry removed his arm from Catherine's as he glared down at her, clearly upset. "Woman, I suggest you curb your shrewish tongue. You may continue to the table alone, and think carefully about what you have just said, for I do not wish to hear it a second time."

There were several gasps around them as she backed away and bowed to him, shuffling away before she had even stood. She felt tears pricking at the sides of her eyes, but she dared not let them fall. She did not wish the courtiers to see them. Bile burned in her throat as she watched the king and his unknown companion continue on without her.

From the corner of her eye, Mary Carey witnessed all the events of the evening as well. Her own ire was as strong as the queens. Because of the king's apparent attentions towards her, she had been banned from seeing her own husband even though he had not approached her outright. She had been surprised by the doctor's sudden appearance, and endured the gossip that began as soon as the two men had departed.

Not one of those assembled had expected the king to return with some unknown woman on his arm. Mary had tried several times to catch his eye, but he seemed to have eyes only for the girl at his side. She felt her throat constrict with jealousy and betrayal.

At least, she amended, it felt like a betrayal since she'd been forced to live without her husband and had begun to warm up to the idea of becoming the king's mistress, but why she should be jealous of a nobody she could not say. For, even if he chose this woman over her, Mary still had a husband waiting for her when she was returned to him.

Within herself, Mary was having a huge debate as they progressed to the Great Hall. This woman wasn't even all that pretty—was she? Perhaps—no—well, undoubtedly the king found her to be, didn't he? And she looked at the queen, ever playing the dutiful and ignorant wife. She did not fool any woman who had ever felt a similar pang over her husband's infidelities, yet she, like all the rest, was forced to endure.

She wondered how her own husband felt about this turn of events. But really, she already knew. He would be much relieved that the king had cast her off, for he'd made it clear he was willing to wait for her to return to him once the king's interest had waned.

Her feelings were torn to shreds as she contemplated these things. She had allowed herself to begin to fall for a man she did not even know, and a man who was quite fickle in his intentions. Perhaps she needed to write her sister Anne, and let loose with her confused thoughts upon her willing ear—or rather, her eye in this case, since she'd be learning of these events in writing.

The king's voice raised in anger pulled her from her reverie. She looked up to see him casting the queen one of the darkest looks she'd ever seen as he told her to continue the walk alone. The girl at his side looked down at her feet, avoiding the eyes that now stared at her. The king and his new interest mounted the steps to the elevated table as gossip echoed throughout the room.

#

Hermione's head was spinning. She hated to be the center of attention, and was uncomfortable having so many unfamiliar gazes directed her way. Instead of meeting anyone's eyes, like she was certain some women would do with a degree of smugness, she focused her eyes squarely on her feet.

She could hear the people's gossip in bits and pieces, enough to know she'd been deemed the king's new favorite. And she could not deny she did feel a bit proud to have caught the eye of such a handsome and powerful man. Yet she wanted to move slowly with this thing, to capture the man's heart completely before she would allow herself to divulge her deepest secret.

But then her eyes widened with shock as the queen blatantly asked the king what her position was to be. She was even more surprised when he defended her and left the queen to walk alone. Still, the woman's words stung, and it was not easy for her to appear unruffled by them.

For all that the queen seemed dutiful and serene, it was apparent that she could also be spiteful. The thought came to her, unbidden, that she must have been very upset when Bessy Blount delivered a son. She had been surprised, as others had, when the king had not put Catherine aside and married his son's mother, but now those tables had turned yet again, and it was obvious that the king and queen had not resolved the difficulties that had led him to seek Bessy's comfort in the first place.

She wished for nothing more than that the king would have a son so England could be safe. But was she the right person for that task, since she had a feeling that the man's intentions towards her could easily produce issue should she allow it? After seeing how he'd so easily dismissed his queen to continue on with her on his arm, she was uncertain if she wanted to.

Henry whispered reassuringly in her ear, almost as if he knew her thoughts, "I would never do such a thing to you, Hermione, if we were to explore what has transpired between us further. You must understand that Catherine has been trying my patience for years. I assure you that no harm will come to you for loving me." Then he kissed the side of her cheek, and she gave him a small, shy smile.

He had surprised her yet again, speaking of an eventual future between them—one in which she would love him, and he would keep her safe. Were his words true, or did the man make empty promises? She gazed up at his profile through hooded lashes, wondering if she could really take the path her heart was already showing more than a little willingness to follow.

What do you think? Do you think the Mirror had it wrong? OR should Hermione let her heart guide her, and grant the King his wishes?


	7. Five

:-] :-] - Sorry for the shortness of this chapter all. I just wanted to give you all an insight to Hermione's feelings, and thought's on the developments. There's also a little surprise below. Tell me what you think :-]

~*~**FIVE**~*~

As they moved towards the table at the head of the Great Hall, the party murmured a steady stream of gossip that echoed off the walls in a slightly confusing jumble. Mostly they spoke of the recent altercation between the royal pair, and the queen's subsequent slighting that left her walking alone.

Catherine held her head high, and soon she was flanked by two of her most loyal ladies in waiting, who wished to bolster her courage. It was only the woman's pride that kept her from abandoning the room altogether so she would no longer be forced to see her husband and his new interest walking ahead of her.

For her part, Hermione was feeling quite disoriented. The reactions of the people now that they'd entered the large dining hall were most disconcerting. If she'd thought herself being overly scrutinized before, it was as nothing compared to the outright stares she was receiving now that they'd reached their destination.

Perhaps they were trying to figure out more about her, she thought. Perhaps they'd come to the conclusion that he'd chosen her, a nobody whom they'd never seen before, simply because she was a normal person, one who wasn't after him for his money, his title, or his power. That must be a rarity in a place like this.

Could Hermione Granger really leave the comfort of her books, buried deep within the many rows, hiding behind some book in her father's shop, and actually give her heart to a man? A man who ruled the very land on which she walked? And what would happen if she, too, was unable to give him a son? If whatever this was that now brewed between them turned out to be love, would he still love her even then?

Again she felt the king's lips brush her ear as he whispered, "Relax, Hermione. You are safe with me. They know better than to anger their king."

At these words, he finally brought her to his table, and even held the chair on his right for her to sit upon. She sat down and smiled shyly up at him through her eyelashes.

When the queen passed them to take the seat to the left of her husband, he did not even pay the slightest attention to her, nor did he rise to hold her chair as well. That poor woman blushed furiously, but of course she did not speak of her displeasure.

Seeing this made Hermione feel even more conspicuous than before. Damn her horse; if he hadn't been spooked she wouldn't be in this mess. She would not be receiving all the attention unlike anything she'd experienced before. She didn't want to add fuel to the raging fire of unrest between the king and queen, who clearly were not happy in their marriage.

Of course she found the king attractive—who wouldn't? But did she really want to go down in history as the woman who caused the ruler of her country to drop his wife like yesterday's news just to take up with her? They'd probably label her as a whore, and call her children bastards, unfit to take the throne.

Before the feasting began, the king stood and addressed everyone. "Good people, I'm sure many of you here are wondering who the lovely young woman I brought to dinner is. May I present Hermione Granger, a resident from a nearby village who had an unfortunate accident while riding in the woods." He nodded once in her direction, taking in the nervous blush she now wore, and picked up his goblet. "And now, since I'm sure you're all quite hungry, let the feast commence."

Why her? she wondered. She had always hated being the center of attention, but if they took what happened in the corridor further, then she had better get used to it. She would have to stop whining and shying away like a scared little kitten. But what if her shyness was what he liked about her in the first place? What if becoming more bold pushed him away? It was maddening trying to figure out how one should act in a situation like this.

She had never considered it her duty to parade under the noses of the nobility, hoping to gain a husband. She had never meant to gain the king's attention and desire, and as he'd said himself, she was new to court, having never set foot inside the royal circle before yesterday.

Of course she'd witnessed the procession as the king and queen moved their court to a new destination, either to or from the castle. She'd watched them pass through her village more than once from her upstairs window in her father's shop. But she knew nothing of the people beyond this, even though she'd grown up so close by.

Henry sat again, and the servants came out with huge platters of food, first to their table, and then onward to the others. It was very noisy, but Hermione tried to listen carefully as he began to explain his world. He pointed out certain people, and each of them nodded politely in acknowledgement as he did so. Hermione's neck began to ache from all the nods she returned.

The king shared a trencher with her, and soon their attention turned to the food laid on the table before them. Thankfully, the people below also turned their attentions to their own food, taking most of the focus off of Hermione, at least for a little while.

"My dear, have you not shared a trencher before?" Henry chuckled as he watched the awkward uncertainty with which she picked out a chunk of meat with the strange, two-pronged instrument he'd called a fork. "You stab the food with the fork, so it won't fall off as it does with a spoon. Like this."

Stabbing a piece of meat, he brought it up to Hermione's mouth, and she shyly bit into it, one of her teeth encountering metal as she did so. She ignored the sharp pain this caused, and smiled her thanks at him, hoping he didn't notice her ineptitude.

When the meal was finally over and the lower tables were cleared, the entertainments began. A few tables remained for the noblemen who sat close to the king's table, and Hermione noticed that many of them continued to drink from their tankards even after the food was removed.

The minstrels began to play, and dancing began. Hermione was not much of a dancer, and much to her horror the king requested her to accompany him out to the floor.

"Oh, no, Your Majesty," she said in a pleading tone. "I am not at all talented at such things."

"Nonsense, my dear," he insisted. "I make an excellent instructor, and besides, it gives me a good excuse to hold your hand."

Hermione blushed as he drew her to her feet and down the steps into the sea of people who were already gyrating to the music. The king was indeed a good dancer, and by the time they finally stepped aside for a rest, she had become more warmed by his touch than the exercise itself.

"Did I not tell you we would do well together?" said Henry with a playful chuckle. He looked as though he had every intention of kissing her again, right there in front of the court, when an overloud cough resounded in their ears, reminding them both of where they were.

"Your Majesty, forgive me for interrupting, but—"

Oh no, Hermione thought. She recognized that voice all too well. Her father was well and truly going to kill her.

"May I have a dance with my niece?" the man continued.

Hermione froze, and her grip on Henry's arm tightened as her whole body tensed. He cast her a look with a furrowed brow as he took in her wide-eyed, frozen reaction.

Hermione stuttered, "Un-uncle Ma-Malfoy? I didn't kn-know you'd be at c-court." She had never known her Wizarding uncle, a pure-blood supremacist who normally frowned on anything not of a magical nature, would willingly allow himself to be surrounded by so much dirty blood—as he tended to call it.

"Your father really has kept you in the dark, hasn't he?" he inquired with one perfectly arched eyebrow as he smirked down at her.


End file.
